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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234440">Hurts so Good</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/pseuds/Zoejoy24'>Zoejoy24</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Drabbles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble Collection, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Violence, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:46:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/pseuds/Zoejoy24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of 100 word drabbles based on requests from tumblr.</p><p>Just like in Brevity, if any major warnings apply they will be posted in the chapter notes, so please be sure to check those before reading!  There are some chapters with RAPE/NON-CON so be sure to check the chapter notes.  The chapter titles make it pretty clear what the content is as well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Drabbles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Lab Rat (Malcolm)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yay, more drabbles!  These won't be updated as regularly, and I'll probably post them in chunks rather than chapter by chapter.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You know, your father was a genius.  Truly, ahead of his time,” Dr. Reynolds says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She arranges her tools on the table placed next to the makeshift hospital bed Malcolm is strapped to, barely spares him a second glance as she continues to extol his father’s virtues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My father is a monster,” Malcolm whispers, words slurring together because of the drugs she’d pumped him full of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pauses, hands gripping the edges of the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just… you don’t understand,” she hisses out.  “No one understands. But I’ll show you. I’ll teach you.  We’re going to learn so much. Together.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Burns (Malcolm)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Malcolm hisses in pain as the man presses the cigarette against his skin once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Whitly.  You know more than you’re telling us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not, I’m just… hng… fuck!  I’m just a consultant!” he gasps out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man takes another pull, the embers smoulder bright and strong once more and he holds the cigarette above Malocolm’s forearm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t believe you.  You’re close to Arroyo, you spend time at the precinct.  You know what they know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man presses in again and Malcolm screams, fighting against his restraints.  He grits his teeth, swears once more, “I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Apology (Gil, Jessica, and Ainsley)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Implied Major Character Death!!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Gil stood in front of Jessica and Ainsley, jaw clenched hard as he forced back the wave of emotions that threatened to overtake him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gil, you’re scaring me.  What’s wrong?” Jessica demands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jess, I’m… I’m so sorry,” he manages to say before choking on the tears he’s been trying to hide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Don’t you dare,” Jessica replies, her face a mask of anger and denial.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ainsley looks between them, realization dawning, and she collapses onto the couch, whispering a broken ‘oh, god’ as tears form in her own eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Malcolm.  Oh, my baby, my precious boy,” Jessica sobs.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Fighting Back (Malcolm)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Malcolm’s never been a quitter, uneven odds don’t keep him from doing what’s right.  But these odds… they’re impossible to overcome.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s alright, he thinks.  He doesn’t need to win, he just needs to survive.  Hold them off, keep them occupied till the girl he’d rescued can get away, get help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He faces down the five men in front of him, eyeing them up, waiting for them to make the first move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dodges and blocks, gets in some hits of his own for they overwhelm him, send him to the floor.  Even then he doesn’t stop fighting, for her.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Friendship (Malcolm, Dani)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Bright, I’m your friend, I’m not leaving you,” Dani insists.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dani.  We’re not friends, we’re barely coworkers.  I only put up with you, with the team, because I don’t have a badge to flash anymore.  I asked them to let you go because you're a liability to me, always in my way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t mean that, Bright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really do, Dani.  I’ve been using you, manipulating you.  It’s what I do. Now go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a ploy, a desperate bid to ensure her safety, she knows that.  But the words still cut her deep, because even lies carry some truth.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Betrayal (Malcolm, Vijay)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Vijay asks him to meet he thinks nothing of it.  He shouldn’t have been so trusting.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vijay, what is this?” Malcolm snarls as his hands are tied behind him while his </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend</span>
  </em>
  <span> watches passively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, bro.  They offered to double my money if I told them what the NYPD knew.  I told them I could do them one better. Nothing personal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last thing Malcolm sees before they slide the hood over his head is Vijay and Cooper shaking hands.  A blow to his stomach doubles him over and then he’s thrown into the van, sliding across the floor.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Brainwashing (Malcolm)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He hasn’t slept since they took him.  The lights are always on in his cell. He hasn’t eaten in days.  They give him water in a bowl, but with his hands bound behind him he has to lap it up like a dog.  He knows what they’re doing--trying to finish his father’s work, break him, turn him into a killer. He refuses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But each day gets harder.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The victims they bring in die either way, always horribly.  They tell him it's his fault for not doing as he’s told.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe they're right.  Maybe killing has always been his only choice.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Flinch (Malcolm, Gil)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As soon as the bruises are gone he goes back to work.</p><p>He’s fine, he tells them.  Yes, he got a little beat up, but no serious damage was done.</p><p>Gil welcomes him back, squeezing his shoulder like he’s done a thousand times.</p><p>Malcolm flinches violently away, yells, “Don’t touch me!”  He’s shaking, head ducked, shoulders hunched defensively, breathes ragged.</p><p>Gil looks stricken, face pale as he jerks his hand back.  “Shit, kid.  I’m so sorry.  What… what the hell did they do to you?”</p><p>Malcolm shakes his head, whispers “I”m fine,” even as tears well in his eyes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Darkness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He thinks it must still be night, when he wakes.  He can’t see anything, the room bathed in darkness so thick he can’t see his own hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malcolm, baby?  Can you hear me?” his mother asks from beside him and he turns his head towards her but can see nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wha-” he croaks, voice hoarse, mind racing as a horrible realization begins to dawn on him.  “What happened? I can’t… I can’t see,” he whimpers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, baby.  There was an explosion,” his mother begins, her voice soaked in grief and pity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will I get better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweetheart, I really don’t know.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Forgotten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Malcolm doesn’t know how long he’s been held in the small room--closet, really.  Hours, maybe even days. He’s hungry, thirstier than he’s ever been. When the door finally opens he shrinks away the brightness of the artificial light and from the man who towers over him.  He reaches down, grabbing the chain dangling between Malcolm’s fettered wrists and hauls him to his feet. Malcolm whimpers as limbs that had long since grown numb and stiff are forced to stretch and move once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you think that I forgot you, boy?” the man grunts.  “I bet you’ll wish I had.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Pain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He doesn’t say anything, because he knows he’ll get sent home, and that’s not an option.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The killer is escalating, and if they don’t catch him, they’ll have more bodies on their hands.  He can wait. It’s just a bruise. It was his fault for running after their suspect so recklessly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Gil claps him on the shoulder, and it nearly sends him to his knees.  He sees stars and tears form in the corners of his eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He expects to see anger in Gil’s eyes for hiding the injury, but instead there’s sadness and concern, and those hurt worse.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Lies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You’re a mess, Bright.  I thought you were strong enough to handle this, but you’re not.  You’re weak, broken,” Gil snarls at him, face twisted in disgust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani and JT stand beside Gil, nodding their agreement, scoffing as he tries to protest, to defend himself.  But his words fall on deaf ears, and his tears only prove Gil’s point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will never be good enough to fix what you’ve done,” Gil spits.  “You ruin everything you touch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm wakes screaming, tears soaking his pillow.  A dream, just a dream. Not real, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>true</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, he can’t help but wonder...</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Forced to Watch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>JT is strong.  He’s resilient and stubborn, hard to break—a fact that infuriated his drill sergeants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In three hours, their captors have managed to do what those sergeants couldn’t, and they haven’t even laid a finger on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm hasn’t been so lucky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For three hours he’s watched as they’ve tortured the profiler.  They beat him first, ‘softening him up.’ They used a knife, next, carving long, shallow cuts into Malcolm’s chest.  When they bring out the cattle prod, when Malcolm’s screams are cut off by the current coursing through his body, JT breaks.  They laugh, and shock him again.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Bleeding Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Gil watches, his worst nightmares coming true as Malcolm jerks, body twisting sharply to the side as the loud report of a gunshot rips through the alley.  Their suspect runs and Gil lets him, eyes trained on Malcolm as he rushes over and presses his hand against the ever-growing blood stain just above his hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bright, dammit, stay with me,” he says, pulling his phone out and calling 911.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm moans, eyes fluttering and Gil presses harder, but the bleeding doesn’t slow.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang in there, Malcolm.  I need you,” Gil sobs, watching helplessly at the color drains from Malcolm’s face.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Poison</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Moments after taking his first sip Malcolm can tell something is wrong.  His face feels flushed, sweat breaking out on his forehead. His heart rate increases and his stomach cramps painfully.  He collapses against the table and Dani jumps to her feet, rushing over him, her own tea left mercifully untouched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, I need a medic, now!” Dani yells out into the bullpen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was just… a sip,” Malcolm wheezes, sliding to the floor.  “It shouldn’t… kill me. Too quickly."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dani makes a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm vomits blood before his eyes roll back.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Odd</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You’re a freak!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet you’re daddy’s little helper, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They should lock you up with him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm is used to the taunts and jeers from his classmates.  He’s learned to duck his head and carry on like he can’t hear them.  Even though he can.  Every single one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What he isn’t used to, is hearing the same from his teachers—  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He always has been an odd one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just, keep an eye on him. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the age when the signs could start to show.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought they understood.  He thought they cared about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  He was wrong.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Poison, #2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Kid, aren’t you’re being a little dramatic?” the officer laughs with a smile and a pat on his head.  He joins Martin in the sitting room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though.  He knows what kind of man his father is, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rushes into the room while they’re still talking, grabs the tea cup from the platter, and downs it in one long swallow.  He slams the cup down and looks up at the officer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you’ll see,” he says.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dose is far too high for someone his size.  His head hits the table when he collapses, and everything goes black.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. "No."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Are you calling to say you have my money?" the garbled voice demands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil sucks in a pained breath, eyes closed tight as he forces himself to say the word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> get it.  Jessica would pay in a heartbeat. But the man hadn't gone to Jessica, he'd come to the police. And the NYPD doesn't negotiate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Gil grits out. "You know I can't.  But there's —"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Enough!" the man yells.  A </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump</span>
  </em>
  <span>, followed by a pained moan comes through the phone, and Gil nearly sobs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"One hour, and then I start sending him back to you in pieces."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Confusion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When he wakes, he's alone. Alone, and cold, and lost. Laying on the floor in an empty room, with only the light from the city in the distance to see by as it filters in through dirty windows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His body aches. He's barefoot, his shirt and pants torn, and he guesses the dark spots on his clothes and skin is blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't remember anything. How he got there, where he is, what had happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stumbles outside, looking around at the abandoned industrial park as panic starts to set in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's alone, and he doesn't remember who he is.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Brainwashing, #2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Say it again, little Malcolm. Who do you belong to?" </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crack</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the whip cuts across his back once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"G-God," Malcolm whimpers, sagging in his bonds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And who has God given you to?" John demands, striking him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm shudders, but knows the blows will come until he says it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>You,</span>
  </em>
  <span> John. You are m-my saviour."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's right, little Malcolm. You were given to me, to do with as I see fit, to make you into what He intends you to be. My helpmate."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm moans at the word, knowing all it entails and shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John sighs. "Again."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Lab Rat, Pt. 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a continuation of the first Lab Rat prompt I filled, which is Chapter One.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He passes out.  It’s too much.  The pain, the homemade drugs she keeps introducing into his system, testing their effect on his body, his responses.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Does this make it hurt more, or less?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wakes, and wishes he never had.  There’s something in his throat, blocking his airway.  He wrenches against his restraints but he’s strapped down so tightly he can’t even turn his head.  He realizes he’s been intubated several long seconds later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Dr. Reynolds is there, watching him struggle.  He looks up at her, pleading silently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I’ll keep it in,” she muses.  “Try to relax, Malcolm.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Part 2 was HEAVILY influenced by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Machancheese/pseuds/Machancheese">Machancheese</a> who wrote an absolutely fantastic BTHB fill where Malcolm is intubated while conscious.  Here’s the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24345646">link</a>.  Go read it.  It’s wonderful.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Mind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Malcolm doesn’t like to be alone.  Because truthfully, he never really </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> alone.  There’s always </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> there with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John is a new addition.  Taunting him when he feels like he’s failed.  Reminding him that somewhere, deep down—or maybe not so deep—a part of him was willing to resort to extreme violence.  As a child.  And what does that say about him, now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laying in the hospital bed, recovering from John’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>trials</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’s more in his mind than he has been in years.  He can’t escape.  There’s no distraction.  No case.  No </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just John. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Happy?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Dad, wha- what did you do?” Malcolm asks as he slowly returns to consciousness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin is beaming down at him, absolutely thrilled, happier than Malcolm’s seen him in- well.  Over twenty years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My boy!  I </span>
  <em>
    <span>saved</span>
  </em>
  <span> you!  You should be grateful, happy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm groans softly, taking stock of his situation.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obviously concussed, a shackle around his ankle, connected to a ring embedded in the concrete floor. And he’s nauseous, dizzy, feverish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurts,” he whimpers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my boy.  I know.  But it will fade. Soon it will just be you, and me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm’s never been afraid of his father, until now.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Control</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Look, why don’t we all just take a breath, and try to calm down?” Malcolm suggests gently, arms held up in surrender as he looks each of the bank robbers in the eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one nearest him lashes out, pistol whipping him and sending him to the floor with a groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!  You’re not running the show here, I am!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look…” Malcolm croaks out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boys, show him who’s really in charge here,” the man orders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The others circle around him, kicking and stomping, leaving him moaning and gasping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t try to profile them again.  He focuses on surviving.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Forced to Enjoy It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As the chapter title suggests, this drabble contains <b>RAPE/NON-CON.</b><br/>It's not terribly explicit but it is DEFINITELY there.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Tell me you want it," John groans into his ear, grinding up against him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>touching </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. "Tell me who you belong to."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You, John. Belong to you," Malcolm gasps out as John continues his assault, weeks of practice helping him to work Malcolm to hardness in no time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Tell me you want it!" John demands, wrapping his hand around Malcolm's throat, pinning him to the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm sobs, trying to shake his head even as John presses inside of him, strokes him in time with his thrusts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn't have to say it, his body's reaction speaks volumes, betrays him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Begging</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Please, no more.  Please, I can’t, I can’t do this anymore…” Malcolm moans as the spectre of the girl makes its way towards him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you want from me, I don’t know how to help you.  Please, just stop.  Please go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She keeps moving closer, and he sobs, rocking back and forth on the couch as he shakes his head, digging his palms into his eyes, shivering with exhaustion and terror.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, please, please.  I can’t, no more, no more,” he whispers over and over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sits next to him and he wails. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No more, no more.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Hero</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“See what happens when you try to be a hero?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm looks up at the man taunting him from where he’s laying on the ground, his head pounding, blood trickling down his face.  He’s clutching his thigh, but it’s not doing much to stop the blood streaming from the bullet wound he’d gotten when he’d stepped between the killer and his intended victim.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d still killed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man reaches down, grabbing a fistful of Malcolm’s shirt and yanking him up, smiling down at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you have long, but we’ll have some fun together while we can.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Breathe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Malcolm is floating in a drug-induced haze.  He feels a solid presence against his back, holding him up, grounding him.  There’s an arm wrapped around his chest, a hand resting softly on his throat, stroking softly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re mine now, little Malcolm.  Everything you are belongs to me, and you must learn what that means,” a dark, gravelly voice whispers in his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand on his throat tightens, choking him.  He struggles weakly, and the voice tuts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of that.  You’ll breathe when I let you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets go, and Malcolm takes a breath.  He squeezes again, and Malcolm learns.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Non-Consensual</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter contains explicit <b>RAPE/NON-CON.</b></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Endicott comes to him the first time—shoves him violently against the wall, choking him with a forearm across his throat, smacking him when he tries to call out and finally, viciously pushes into his unwilling body—he explains how things will be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That Endicott has needs that Jessica can't meet.  That Malcolm will take whatever Endicott does to him without complaint to ensure Jessica doesn't have to.  That the minute he steps out of line, his mother will be the one to pay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Endicott is rough, leaves bruises, hurts him every time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm takes it so Jessica never has to.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Punishment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Little Malcolm, I’m disappointed.  I told you what would happen if you stopped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm sways in place, vision swimming, legs cramping, arms aching from holding the heavy book.  He’s been reading aloud from John’s family bible for hours and his voice is hoarse, his throat dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘M sorry, John.  I-I forgot… what?”  He sways again, nearly falls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John catches him by the throat and throws him to the ground, dragging his belt free of it’s loops as he looms over Malcolm’s trembling form. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  I’ll do better,” Malcolm promises.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will, next time.  This time, you must be punished.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Abuse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Malcolm comes home for Spring Break, Jackie knows that something’s wrong.  He’d been so excited heading into this semester, but now, he’s faded; barely smiles, hardly speaks.  He’s almost as bad as he’d  been after the arrest, and yet something is different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she takes his hand, he flinches before giving her a forced smile.  She sees the bruises on his wrist, and her heart drops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only takes one gentle question for him to reveal the truth.  Jackie holds him as he cries and tells her about the boy he thought loved him, but hurts him now instead.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Amnesia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a continuation of the drabble for Confusion, which is Chapter 19!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He wanders.  It’s dark, and cold, but he doesn’t know what else to do besides head to the road and start walking, head bowed, shoulders hunched against the cold breeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually he gets picked up by a patrol car, and they take him to the hospital.  He has a nasty cut on the back of his head, and bruising bad enough that they call for a CT scan, more bruises across his body.  They ask questions, but he doesn’t know…anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They say his name is Malcolm, that there are people coming for him.  Family, friends.  He doesn’t know them, either.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Suicidal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning for thoughts of suicide!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Gil wakes from his drunken stupor the first thing his eyes find in the room is his service weapon.  It’s laying on the floor where he’d dropped it and everything else he’d been wearing when he got home…yesterday?  Two days ago?  He doesn’t even know.  It doesn’t matter anymore.  Nothing matters anymore.  Not since she left him.  His beautiful, perfect Jackie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks the gun up carefully, reverently.  Loads it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be so easy.  No one is left to care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone rings.  The answering machine picks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gil!  It’s Malcolm…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts the gun down, and sobs.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. Helpless (Part 1 of 3)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is part one of three, followed by Torture and Bruised. They should be read in that order to make the most sense!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Gil hangs limply from the ropes looped over a rafter and tied tightly around his wrists. The rough strands cut into his skin, rubbing it raw. He’s barely conscious, his whole body screaming in pain after spending the last 20 minutes being used as a human punching bag.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tries to lift his head, but he doesn’t have the strength. He’s desperate to see what they’re planning next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not that knowing would help. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s completely helpless, has been since their suspect ambushed them and pressed a gun against Malcolm’s temple, ordering him to drop his weapon and come along peacefully. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Tortured (Part 2 of 3)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is part two of a three part series, starting with Helpless, and followed by Bruised.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Malcolm screams around the gag in his mouth, straining against ropes that loop around his wrists and the arms of the chair he’s tied to, around his ankles and the rope wrapped around his chest, pulled so tight it hurts to breathe. The restraints keep him practically immobile, stuck in a front row seat to his worst nightmare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’ve barely touched him, and yet, watching as their suspect and two other men beat Gil mercilessly is the worst torture he can imagine. He sobs brokenly, tears flowing freely down his face as he screams uselessly, wishing they’d take him instead.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Bruised</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is part three of a three part series, starting with Helpless and Torture.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Gil pulls his button-up on slowly, easing his second arm into the sleeve with a wince as the motion pulls at aching ribs and abused muscles. He’s covered in a patchwork of colors—deep purples, reds and blues, sickly yellows and greens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sharp inhale of breath draws his attention, and he turns to see Malcolm standing just inside the door. His face is pale, eyes wide, regret and despair etched across every line of his face as his gaze travels along Gil’s still bare chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows Malcolm blames himself like he always does. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both have healing to do. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Illness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My sinuses are acting up, and I feel terrible. I decided Malcolm should suffer with me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Another shiver wracks his body, making already achy muscles spasm, adding to his misery. Malcolm doesn’t remember ever feeling so terrible. Granted, he’d also never jumped into the near-freezing Hudson before, either. He sniffles, sneezes, groans, his stuffy head throbbing. Every movement hurts. Each cough, sneeze, </span>
  <em>
    <span>breath</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gil settles down into the chair he’d dragged over the first day Malcolm ended up bedridden. “Here you go, kid. Can you sit up?” He holds up a bowl of steaming broth and a spoon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Malcolm can. He smiles ruefully at Gil, more grateful than he can say for the other man’s care.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The pain of the bullet ripping through his stomach is excruciating, sends Malcolm twisting, falling to the ground. His phone, which he’d just dialled, skitters away from him across the floor, the light of the screen the only thing illuminating the space. He can’t see his assailant, but he can hear the steady thud of their boots, the noise fading as they walk calmly away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The screen dims, and Malcolm clutches at his side. He doesn’t need light to know he’s bleeding out, fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Help,” he moans, too quiet. “Help! Gil!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He prays the call went through, prays Gil answers. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. Fall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The groaning of the wood floor beneath him is the only warning Malcolm has before a terrifying </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack </span>
  </em>
  <span> rings out and the floor gives way beneath his feet. He falls against a hard, unforgiving edge that drives the air from his lungs in an agonizing woosh, then bounces off and hits the floor. Dust fills the air, debris raining down, choking him and making him cough, which sends a stabbing pain through his ribs and chest. He wheezes, struggling to breathe fully through the agony that comes with each inhale. Everything is noise and pain and chaos and then… nothing.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. "Let's Have Some Fun"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning for noncon touching!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Let’s have some fun now, shall we?” the man looming over Gil asks, flipping his knife through the air idly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gil’s skull is pounding, ears ringing from the unforeseen blow to the back of his head that had sent him sprawling to the ground. It takes a few seconds too long for him to get his bearings, and by then it’s too late to fight back. He blinks away the stars and sees Malcolm with a knife to his throat, the man who’s holding him already sliding a hand beneath his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Gil begs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The men laugh.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. Villain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Martin stares down at the crumpled form of his boy, lying so quiet and still on the floor of the SUV. He’s breathing steadily, and that’s all that matters to Martin. For now, he just needs his boy alive. It shouldn’t have come to this—to a physical altercation, to Martin having to subdue his own son, having to press his forearm against Malcolm’s throat and restrain him as he struggled until he finally fell unconscious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>the villain here. He only wants what’s best for Malcolm. One day, Malcolm will understand. One day, Malcolm will </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank </span>
  </em>
  <span>him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
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